這書後面的題材太厚重，無論是關於家庭、關於部落、關於印第安族群、關於成長、還是關於死亡。作者就像他殘酷但有情的母親一樣，用冷酷與幽默，文藝與粗俗，散文與平實，把這些厚重散亂，一針一線拼成印第安拼布，裹著自己的悲傷，在祭壇上哀悼自己的母親，自己的家庭，自己的部落、自己的族群……“Your book is constructed in fabric squares like one of your mom's quilts.”... And then I saw the patterns and repetition of patterns. I saw the stitches and knots. I saw that hands had worked in the same way that my mother's hands had worked. Fabric square ad infinitum.

但同時這本回憶錄裡面，或者說這塊祭壇拼布里千瘡萬孔。那是沒人知曉答案的“黑洞”，作者留著它們，一方面是懶，另一方面卻是更有意義的“無知”，這洞裡面有著說不清道不明的情緒和意義。“This memoir,” I said. “It's going to have a lot of blank spaces. I suppose I could really dig into the research and get stuff as accurate as possible. But I like the blank spaces. I like how they feel. I want my readers to feel how I feel. I want them to feel the loss. To feel our loss. I want them to know how guilty I feel for not knowing this stuff.”

作者思路跳躍，而且擅長文字遊戲，散沙一片的回憶卻始終有著最核心的母親，但提到母親，父親是一個跳不開的門檻。

Silence was his short bow and quiver of arrows.作者開篇就是這樣介紹他的父親：沉默是這個印第安男人的短弓和箭袋。幾十年後，作者妻子也這樣對作者說：“You aren't mean to me with words,”“You're mean to me with your silences.”如父如子，父親的烙印還是刻在了作者身上。

他絕對不是一個好父親，無業、酗酒、毫無家庭責任。He'd often abandoned me when I was a child. He'd often chosen to go on days- and weeks-long drinking binges instead of staying home with his wife and kids. So, to be blunt, I chose to leave him in the same way he had left me. In that difficult time, I chose to be with my wife and children—the family I had created—instead of the family I was born into. Did that decision make me a bad son? I suppose it did. Do I feel guilty about it? Yes. But I don't regret my decision. Given the chance to travel back in time, I would have still abandoned my father so I could be a father to my sons.看到這一段的時候，萬般滋味上心頭。被遺棄和遺棄，自作自受，但受折磨的卻是活下來的人。

但他也絕對不是一個完全忽略家庭的廢柴。當作者的cousinEugene被殺后，他的默默陪伴，也是一種他能夠表達的愛。my father took me to the outdoor basketball court on the rez. We silently shot hoops for hours. That was how my father mourned with me. I felt so much pain that I thought I might shoot basketballs forever, and I think my father would have kept shooting forever, too.

讀著作者為父子關係寫的散文詩，隨著詞語的韻律，眼淚不爭氣地流，為的是這來得太遲的理解，為的是這永遠無法彌補的遺憾……

Sometimes, Father, you and I,

are like a three-legged horse

who can't get across the finish line

no matter how hard he tries and tries and tries.

Sometimes, Father, you and I

are like a warrior

who can only paint half of his face

while the other half cries and cries and cries and cries.

Now, can I ask you, Father,

if you know how much farther we need to go?

Now, can I ask you, Father,

if you know how much farther we have to go?

Father and farther,

Father and farther,

'til we know?

Father and farther,

Father and farther,

'til we know?

Sometimes, Father, you and I

are like two old drunks

who spend their whole lives in the bars

swallowing down all those lies and lies and lies.

Sometimes, Father, you and I

are like dirty ghosts

who wear the same sheets every day

as one more piece of us just dies and dies and dies.

Now, can I ask you, Father,

if you know how much farther we need to go?

Now, can I ask you, Father,

If you know how much farther we have to go?

Father and farther,

Father and farther,

'til we know?

Father and farther,

Father and farther,

'til we know?

Father and farther,

Father and farther,

'til we know?

Father and farther,

yeah, how much farther

'til we know?

Sometimes, Father, you and I

are like a three-legged horse

who can't get across the finish line

no matter how hard he tries and tries and tries...

對於父母之前是否有愛情，作者給出確定的模棱兩可答案。I don't know if my parents romantically loved each other. I am positive they platonically loved each other very much.特別是提起年輕時父母為了證明愛對方，去紋身，但是太疼，都半途而廢，留下了不完整的Lil和Sh——也是他們一輩子的愛情，太疼，永遠不完整！But my parents were sober and inexperienced when they got those first tattoos. They couldn't take the pain. So my father stopped his tattoo at “Lil,” short for Lillian, though nobody ever called my mother Lil. And my mother stopped her tattoo at “Sh.”

父親的死亡，好像也解開了作者與母親的聯繫，兩個人各奔東西。

My mother and I'd held each other hostage

For thirty-six years. But then my dad died,

And Mom and I were too damn exhausted

To be jailers anymore. We untied

Old knots and unlocked cell doors in tandem

And walked free in separate directions.

而母親的死亡，才讓作者真真正正認識到這永遠糾結不清的愛恨。We, the bipolar mother and her bipolar son, fought so often that all of the arguments blended into a terrifying yet predictable ride. My mother and I were roller-coaster cars on parallel tracks.

作者真的是很恨母親，恨到要讓她的靈魂跪在他的靈魂腳下。即使完全忘記了理由，但是那種恨的情緒，深深刻在心裡。During that argument in 1977, I remember the hatred I felt for my mother. It didn't feel like a temporary hatred. And it didn't feel like an adolescent rage. It felt like something more profound and permanent than youthful angst. My hatred felt as ancient as a cave painting. I didn't want to physically hurt my mother, but I certainly wanted my words to break her soul's back over my soul's knee.

在孩童時的被遺棄感，是會纏繞一輩子的——即使長大成人，粗壯如牛，心裡面那個被遺棄的孩子，依然是哭喊著，哭喊著。I can't recall any physical details about the man. I don't know if he was Indian or white or something else. I only remember waving good-bye and crying as that man and my mother drove away on a dirt road. I remember all the dust kicked up by that RV's wheels. Even now, my throat constricts with that memory of dirt and tears—by the silt of abandonment.

But just imagine how it felt to be

Her fragile child. I never stopped

Being afraid of her. I never left

That dark porch. I am still

Sleeping with those dogs.

Yes, I am always cold and curled

Like a question mark

Among those animal bodies.

As I wait for the glorious

Warmth of the rising sun.

母親是部落的救星，幫助了不少的族人。My mother was a lifeguard on the shores of Lake Fucked.但是對於身邊的親人，卻無能為力。My mother, the healer, could not heal the people closest to her. I don't know if she tried to help us.

但是作者逐漸走出迷失，嘗試去理解母親：少女母親的求救，又有誰聽到了呢？又有誰去幫助了她呢？

How does the child of a rape develop self-esteem?

How does it feel to look into a mirror and see your rapist father's face?

How does it feel to look into your child's face and see your rapist's features? How much forgiveness does it take to survive all of that?

“Rape culture” might be a recently created descriptive phrase, but that phrase retroactively and accurately describes the collected history of human beings.

How disconnected was my mother from her body

And her emotions? To survive, she had to be as mean

As those who would do her harm. So I guess I know

Why she was often distant, storm-hearted, and cold.

特別是在女兒Mary的葬禮上，母親的心再也撐不住了，徹底裂開，無法再愛了——my mother wailed so loudly that I thought she'd snapped her ribs. I think something broke inside her. But not something anatomical. I believe that she broke her capacity to fully love the rest of her children. Or maybe to fully love me. Or maybe to fully love herself. That audible snap I heard—that crack of bone—was maybe her soul snapping in half.

在最後的病床日子里，母親依然是說著美麗的謊言。It was three in the morning but our mother was awake, and she shuffled left and right. “Oh,” our mother said. “We are dancing. It's been so long since I danced. And I don't know why nobody asked me. I was a good dancer.” My sister laughed. She was alone in the night with our mother. There was no music. But my sister held our mother closely and shuffled with her. They moved in the smallest of circles. “We only danced for a few seconds,” my sister later said. “But, all the next day, whenever she was awake and had visitors, Mom kept bragging that she'd danced until sunrise.” O Mother! O Mother! Even in your last moments, you told beautiful lies.

在母親最後的日子里，作者留下了無數的遺憾，而最大的遺憾，就是沒有開口請求母親的饒恕。

I should have bargained with the gods

And given my mother a few more weeks.

A few more days. A few more minutes.

I should have forgiven her for all of her sins

Against me. I should have asked to be

Forgiven for my sins against her.

But I never spoke of forgiveness.

母親的離世，作者終於知道了失去了什麼：一切你以為不在乎的，才是你最在乎的。Mother, for being my mother. Thank you for your imperfect love. It almost worked. It mostly worked. Or partly worked. It was almost enough.

還好作者通過自己的爭鬥和努力，打破了印第安貧窮落後的詛咒，但成功路上的種族歧視，也是血淚斑斑。Hate, pity, disgust, and anger—the Four Horsemen of the Anti-Indian Apocalypse.特別是走出來之後，作為美國土著，卻感受到外國人才有的強烈文化衝擊。That was the first time I truly understood that I was a foreigner. I might have been indigenous to the land itself, but I was a first-generation cultural immigrant to the United States.

作為個體的時候，作者是受朋友歡迎的。但是作為群體的代表，他又是被厭惡、被歧視的。I think the answer has most to do with compartmentalism. It's easy for a white racist to fall in love with and accept one member of a minority—one Indian—and their real and perceived talents and flaws. But it's much tougher for a racist to accept a dozen Indians. And impossible for a white racist to accept the entire race of Indians—or an entire race of any nonwhite people. I would guess, perhaps too optimistically, that nearly every racist believes it is morally wrong to be racist. And since nearly every person thinks of themselves as being moral, then a racist must consciously and subconsciously employ tortured logic in order to explain away their racism—in order to believe themselves to be nonracist.

特別是當他涉及到白人的利益，從他們手中拿過應得的權益時。But I must point out that I was most often subjected to active and passive racism when I threatened the status quo—when I was the Native student who was smarter than the white kids or when I was a better basketball player or debater or actor or comedian or public speaker. Or, most revealingly, when a white girl fell in romantic like or love with me.

關於社會不公，作者鼓勵部落走出來進入白人社會直接競爭，還有政府的額外補助，基本上老調重彈，略過不表。

幸運的是，作者還是找到了合適的另一半，還是只有自己族群才能明白自己。We fall in love with the same boy or girl who was tortured alongside us. We spend our lives with the person who has the same scars in the same places. We make love with the person whose open wounds snap into ours like LEGO pieces. And then, of course, we rage at our neediness.

在成書的過程中，在妻子的幫助下，作者逐漸打開心結，和過去、和母親達成了諒解。I allowed my wife—who'd seen me naked and touched me thousands of times—to finally touch me in those places where I had hoarded so much of my pain and shame. So my skin had grown pale. Had grown from brown to slightly tan. But my acne scars had also grown pale. My skin and my scars were now almost the same color.